A Friend in Need
by ladybrit
Summary: "So he was a fellow lawman - several of those had passed through Dodge before too, and not all of them were committed to upholding justice. Some were even down- right unfriendly."
1. Chapter 1

**A friend in need**

Prologue

 _The boy stood watching the dust blow around his feet as two deputies emerged from the jail-house of a small Missouri town. A woman dressed in what had once been fashionable city clothes stood beside the boy with her face buried in a sodden handkerchief. Her shoulders heaved from time to time as tears flowed from her reddened eyes. The boy couldn't have been more than six years old, but he stood there quietly and still, until slowly he lifted his head to focus on the scene unfolding in front of him. A third man in handcuffs now stood between the two deputies and in a moment they pushed him towards one of the three horses tied to the hitching rail. The man in handcuffs exchanged a few words with the men wearing badges. At first they shook their heads, then one turned and looked at the waif-like boy standing by the wearied woman. Eventually he nodded and indicated for the boy and the woman to come closer. The man in handcuffs looked at the sheriff's deputies and raised his hands, pleading. Seeing no threat in letting him give a final farewell to his wife, the stockier of the two lawmen stepped forward and produced a key. The other deputy had a rifle aimed at the prisoner's back - there was no way he could escape._

 _The handcuffs were released and the man crossed the short distance to the tearful woman and held her close for a moment or two. Then he turned to the boy and pulled him into a tight embrace. Quietly so that the guards didn't hear, he whispered hurried instructions into the boy's ear. The child didn't understand the meaning of the words he barely heard, but he would remember them forever. They would be almost the last ones his father ever spoke to him._

 _The man stepped back a little from the lad. "Take good care of your mother, Son!" These words were spoken louder and more clearly as the man held out his arms to the deputies, and the handcuffs were once more locked in place. He was hurriedly ushered towards the waiting horses then the three men mounted up and moved out. The animals' hooves stirred up the dry, dusty dirt in the street as they made their way from the town. The boy and the woman stood watching until even the fine cloud of dust which followed the three men finally dispersed, and the horses and the men were gone from their lives forever._

Chapter One

It was almost noon, just a few days after the last of the trail herds had left Dodge City. The town seemed relatively peaceful now except for a handful of stragglers who were sleeping off their final drunk at the Dodge House hotel.

Kitty Russell sat working on the large ledger in front of her. There had been a significant amount of havoc wreaked by the drovers this year. During the last three or four months she'd had to spend money replacing numerous tables and chairs. A new mirror now hung behind the bar, and the front window had been replaced twice. Now that she was part owner of the Long Branch Saloon, she wanted to make sure that putting up with the turmoil caused by drunken Texas trail hands was worth all the effort. As she finished adding up the columns of income and expenses, it became clear that in spite of all the damages, the business had managed to turn a decent profit.

It was quiet for now. The usual lunch time crowd consisted mostly of business people from the town and local ranchers who had ventured into Dodge on some errand or another. Not a drover in sight. She breathed an inward sigh of relief.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard the morning westbound stage arrive. That only happened twice a week so it was always a big event. Since the cattle business was over for the year, she didn't expect to see the stranger who walked in through the batwing doors ten minutes later. He stopped for a moment to look around before walking up to the bar and ordering a beer. Jessie, one of the two girls working at this time of day, went up to him to see if he wanted company, but he waved her away.

Kitty watched him for a while, hoping he wasn't in town to cause trouble. He was a little under six feet tall, she guessed, but his build was stocky. He wore a long well-tailored jacket which partly hid the gun he carried at his right hip. He was too well-dressed to be a ranch hand or a cowboy, but not well enough to be a gambler. She only hoped that the gun he wore wasn't his way of earning a living.

Standing up from the table she closed the books she'd been working on. She handed them to Clem and asked him to return them to the small room behind the bar which served as a storage space as well as an office. Bill Pence, her partner in the saloon business, had left earlier that morning on a short trip, so technically she was in sole charge of the place now.

She stood watching the man carefully for a while, trying to figure out what he was here for. He drank his beer slowly studying the glass between mouthfuls as if he'd never seen a beer mug before. He was down to the last few gulps when she picked up a clean glass from the sink and filled it from the beer pull. After wiping off the excess foam she carried it to end of the bar where the stranger was leaning.

"First drink's on the house, Mister!" She placed the mug in front of him and getting no response she decided to introduce herself.

"My name's Kitty Russell. I'm part owner of this place." As usual her expression was open and welcoming, but inside she was worried.

The man looked at her with a half smile but didn't say anything. He dragged the beer she had just brought towards him, and drank half of it before lowering the glass back to the bar. He turned slightly towards her so he could look at her more easily then stood there for a few seconds before replying.

"I've heard your name before," he said at last, barely changing his expression. "This place has quite a reputation." He indicated his immediate surroundings to show he was referring to the Long Branch Saloon.

"You have me at a disadvantage, stranger. I have no idea who you are."

"I don't think you'd recognize my name if I told you. I'm here to see the marshal."

Kitty's heart skipped a beat when he said those words. She had enough control that the anxiety the words caused didn't show on her face.

"You know him?" she asked trying to sound unconcerned.

"We were friends at one time." That never boded well. How many old friends of Matt's had come through Dodge looking to kill him, or to break the law in one way or another? "You have any idea where I might find him?"

She knew that Matt had ridden out of town that morning to check on a rancher's complaints of cattle being stolen. He wouldn't be back till late evening.

"Did you try his office?" she asked cautiously.

"I did, but no one was there."

"He'll show up eventually I'm sure. Are you staying at the Dodge House? If I see him I can tell him you're looking for him."

She was already trying to think of a way she could warn Matt about this new threat. What happened next took her by surprise. The stranger leaned back and laughed. His coat gaped open and she caught a glimpse of the badge pinned on his shirt.

He gathered himself together and reached towards her, extending his right hand, still laughing. "Marshal Jim Cutler, ma'am. I'm based in Springfield, Missouri."

Kitty relaxed a little. So he was a fellow lawman - several of those had passed through Dodge before too, and not all of them were committed to upholding justice. Some were even down-right unfriendly. At least it seemed this man wasn't a gunfighter looking to boost his reputation.

"What brings you to Dodge City, Marshal Cutler?"

"Please call me Jim, Miss Russell. I came here hoping to get Marshal Dillon to help me with a small problem."

"It must be a pretty big problem if you came all the way from Missouri. And you can call me Kitty." She was hoping he'd tell her a little more but instead he changed the subject.

"Tell me Miss ... er Kitty, what does a fella do for entertainment here in Dodge? I heard it was a lively place with all kinds of excitement, but today I arrived to what seems to be a quiet and peaceful town."

"If you'd been here a week or two ago you wouldn't have said that. The last cattle drive of the season left a few days back. Now it's time for those of us who live here to recuperate. If you'll excuse me I need to go relieve Clem at the bar so he can get some lunch." She carefully took her leave of him - somewhat less concerned than she had been but still keeping a little caution in the back of her mind.

"Nice talking to you, Miss Russell. I'm sure we'll meet again soon."

She walked to the far end of the bar, wondering what she could do to forewarn Matt. When she looked back, Marshal Cutler, if that's who he really was, had already passed through the batwing doors and was standing on the boardwalk looking up and down the street.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Matt was on his way back from Mort Paisley's ranch. He had fulfilled his obligations by investigating the disappearance of some of the man's herd. Most of the problem seemed to be related to poor maintenance. The short detour he took around the southern end of the man's property revealed about 15 head of cattle with Paisley's brand, peacefully grazing by a small creek about half a mile outside the Paisley Ranch boundary line. If the old man took better care of his fences he wouldn't have so many cattle going astray.

He visited with Mort Paisley long enough to drink a coffee and explain to the rancher where his cattle were and then because the afternoon was very pleasant, he took his time on the ride home. The cattle season was over now. The town would be quiet and he could let the solitude of the prairie under the late summer sun, calm his mind.

It was dusk by the time he rode into Dodge. As he'd predicted there was nothing much happening in the town. Front Street was quiet and the various storekeepers were already starting to bring their merchandise in off the boardwalk in preparation for closing. He stopped by the livery and handed over his horse, telling Moss he'd be by later to collect his saddle. Meantime he gathered his rifle and canteen and made his way towards the office. As he passed the Long Branch he glanced over the batwing doors and saw Kitty laughing with four local men who were sitting at a table "exchanging lies" as Chester would say. She didn't see him, so he decided to go on to the jail and clean up a bit before returning later for a beer.

The marshal's office was unusually cold and dark when he opened the heavy wooden door. An old friend of Chester's had shown up in town two or three days ago, and since the previous weeks had been so busy he agreed that his assistant deserved a few days off to go fishing. As a result there was no-one here to take care of things. The smell of stale smoke from the cold stove hung heavily in the air and none of the oil lamps were alight. He found matches in the desk drawer and lit two lamps that still held enough oil to burn for a few hours. Then opened the stove door, stirred the ashes around and threw a couple of logs inside. Hopefully it would catch and warm the office up a little. He checked the pitcher on the wash-stand. It was almost full of fresh water so he poured a little in the bowl and splashed some of the cold liquid on his face. Looking in the mirror, he decided that a quick shave would be in order before heading out again. He'd hardly finished wiping the last of the soap from his face when the office door opened. Being behind the door he couldn't see who was there, and his hand reached automatically for his gun.

"Matt?" It was Kitty's familiar voice.

He relaxed immediately, realizing how on edge the last few months had left him. "How did you know I was here?" He dried his hands on the towel as he spoke.

"I saw you as you passed by the Long Branch just now."

He could have sworn she'd never even looked up, but that was Kitty - she always knew.

"Do you know a man by the name of Jim Cutler?" she continued, deciding to come straight to the purpose of her visit.

He searched his memory for a moment or two.

"Yes, but from a long time ago. Haven't heard anything about him in years.

"He's here in town looking for you. He's the marshal over in Missouri now - or at least he says he is."

"Thanks for telling me, Kitty. Is he staying at the Dodge House?"

"I think so."

"Maybe I need to go pay him a visit."

"Be careful." Kitty warned.

"I'll stop by and see you later," he promised as he hung the towel back on its hook, picked up his hat, and gave her a broad grin. "Don't worry - I'm the most careful man in town!"

She left the marshal's office and stopped by Mr. Jonas' mercantile on the way back to the saloon. She didn't really need anything there, but wanted a little distraction from her concerns.

The front desk was deserted when Matt entered the Dodge House. He turned the register towards himself so he could see who was staying there. James L. Cutler was in room twelve.

He took the stairs slowly - trying to remember a time, maybe five or six years ago when he had first met the man he was going to see.

 _Back then, Jim Cutler had only recently been appointed as Marshal in Missouri. Prior to that he'd been a deputy based in Joplin for 3 years. He had a reputation for being a reliable lawman, although there were rumors that he was not above accepting an occasional bribe._

 _When Matt had met Cutler, the man from Missouri was tracking the Tillman brothers who were trying to escape after holding up a bank in Joplin. An unarmed clerk had been killed during the raid, which added a murder charge to the robbery. When the pair crossed into Kansas, Cutler wired Dillon for help. Together they tracked the outlaws across most of Kansas but never quite managed to catch up with them. Somewhere west of Dodge the two brothers had split up. They lost Arlo's trail quite quickly because of a rain storm but continued tracking the older brother, Jeb, until he tuned south to follow the Santa Fe trail - presumably heading for Texas._

 _Quite by accident the two lawmen had come across the stash of money bags hidden in a small cave. Maybe the brothers had decided it was slowing them down too much, and planned to come back for it later. Whatever the reason Cutler decided it was time to stop the pursuit. He had been away from home too long and the weather was getting bad. The two lawmen gathered up the sacks and headed back to Dodge. Once there, Cutler took charge of the money. He insisted on taking it with him on a train headed back to Joplin, so he could return it to the bank. Matt had tried to persuade him to leave the money in Dodge and have the bank arrange the transfer, but Cutler said no - he would return it personally. Since the robbery had occurred in Cutler's jurisdiction Matt didn't have much say in the matter. Later he heard that when the money arrived in Joplin it was $20,000 short. Maybe each of the brothers had taken some, but rumor suggested that Cutler came home a little richer than when he left. Of course that was only rumor, and Matt didn't necessarily believe in rumors. His only regret was that he didn't insist they count the money before Cutler boarded that train._

He reached the top of the stairs and turned left along the hallway until he was outside room twelve.

"Matt Dillon!" he called, announcing himself as he knocked on the door.

He heard hurried movements from within the room and it was a minute or two before the door eventually opened to reveal a man Matt hardly recognized. Cutler had aged considerably since he had last seen him. Before Matt could finish his appraisal, the man from Missouri invited him in and extended his hand.

"Good to see you again Matt. It's been a long time."

"It has," Dillon answered, unenthusiastically.

Matt looked carefully around the room. There was a gun belt hanging on the bedpost, a hat and jacket lying on the bed and a shirt pinned with a US Marshal's badge hanging on the back of a chair. Cutler must have washed up and changed clothes since arriving on the noon stage.

"I guess you're wondering why I'm here." Cutler had uncorked a whisky bottle and was pouring drinks into two glasses. He handed one to Matt. There were two chairs at the small table and he indicated that they should sit.

Matt didn't comment - he sat and waited for whatever story was to come.

"I'm based permanently in Springfield now. It's a pretty big town but fairly civilized and not too much crime until about eighteen months ago. Since then there have been a string of murders - all of them brutal killings. Some were associated with robbery but some just seem to have no purpose at all. I finally tracked down two men who seem to be to be connected to each of them in some way or another. To cut a long story short I have reason to believe they are headed to Dodge. In fact they might already be here. I don't want to usurp your authority Matt, but I do have a personal reason to take them in."

Matt had been sipping on the glass of whisky he held in his left hand. He appeared to be distant but heard every word the man who sat across from him said. He wondered why Cutler had come all this way. Wouldn't it have been easier to wire a description of the men concerned and let Matt wire him back if indeed they did show up? There was a lot of prairie in Kansas and many small towns. Why would these individuals pick Dodge if they were on the run?

Eventually he looked up at the man sitting opposite him. "What do you need me to do?" he asked. It was barely a question, more a statement than anything else.

"I'm not quite sure. I just want to wait around in town to see if they show up."

"And if they don't?"

"I think they will." Cutler seemed a little uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going and the lack of enthusiasm on the part of the Kansas Marshal. "You still think I took that missing money from when we went after the Tillman brothers, don't you?"

"I never found out what happened to that money, Jim. I have no special reason to think you took it."

"I won't deny I was tempted. I had a wife and two young boys at the time. It's not easy to support a family on a marshal's pay. You never did get married, did you Matt?"

Had he asked that in order to change the subject? Matt said nothing, just letting the question hang in the air for a few moments. It was a question that for some reason he could never answer.

He finished the last swallow of his drink and stood up from the table. "Maybe we should go back to the office and look through some of the wanted posters on file. I might already have information on the men you are looking for."

"I'll join you there in an hour, Matt. I have a couple of things I need to take care of first."

Matt left the Dodge House and headed for the office. He was troubled by Cutler's presence here, and was not convinced that he was telling the whole truth. He had planned to go directly to the jail, but spotted Kitty watching him from the entrance to the Long Branch. Maybe he would stop by for a few minutes. Sometimes telling her what was on his mind helped to organize his thoughts.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Do you trust him, Matt?" Kitty was always good at getting straight to the heart of the problem. The marshal sat back in his chair and looked at her, still trying to make up his own mind.

"I don't know Kitty. There was a time when I thought he was a crooked lawman, but that was years ago. Right now there's nothing to indicate he's anything less than honest."

"But still you're not quite sure?"

"Not quite." He really wished he had more information on the men Cutler was looking for. Maybe that would help him make up his mind.

"For what it's worth, I'm not sure I believe everything he says. If he isn't all he claims to be, he's being very clever about it. I'd say be careful Matt, and watch your back."

Matt nodded thoughtfully. He hoped it wasn't so. Bounty hunters and crooked lawmen where high on the list of people he despised.

He picked up his hat and gave her a smile as he rose to leave. "I'd better get back to the office now. He's supposed to meet me there soon. Thanks Kitty, I'll see you later."

She watched as he got up to leave hoping he would take her words seriously. Marshal Cutler might be a fine upstanding lawman, but somewhere in the back of her mind there was a little spark of doubt. "Be careful Matt," she repeated quietly under her breath, as he disappeared onto the street.

At least an hour passed before the door to the marshal's office opened and Cutler strolled in. Matt had already brewed a fresh pot of coffee and stacked all the circulars and wanted posters from the last six months in two neat piles on the desk. He took a pair of mugs from the shelf near the stove and set them on the desk so that one was in front of where each man was going to sit. Being slow and deliberate he filled both cups, waiting for Cutler to say something. It became obvious that the Missouri lawman was reluctant to start the conversation.

"Pull up a chair, and start going through these." Matt indicated the stacks of paper on his desk. "See if there are any familiar names or faces."

Dillon watched as Jim Cutler took a handful of the posters and started flipping through them. Matt's intense stare followed his every move and neither man spoke. This went on for about ten minutes which passed in almost total silence. The only sound was that of the papers sliding through Cutler's fingers as he studied each one in turn.

"There's nothing." Cutler placed the second stack back on the desk and took a few swallows of the now almost cold coffee. Finally he looked directly at Matt. "I don't think we'll find them here," he said. It seemed like he was going to say more but Dillon was running low on patience.

"I don't think you're really trying," he interrupted the Missouri man. "I get the feeling there's more to this story than you're telling me."

It was a statement not a question and Cutler had no suitable reply. Maybe it had been a mistake to come to Dodge like this. He should never have come asking for help from the one man who didn't trust him. Circumstances had made this whole thing too much for him to handle alone, but if he told Dillon the whole story it would destroy everything he'd planned and worked for. On the other hand this Kansas Marshal was one of the few men capable of helping him. Cutler stood up from the desk and walked to the stove to refill his coffee cup. Returning to his seat he took a few swallows before looking at the man sitting across the table from him.

"One of the men involved is Coy Clemons. I've never seen him face to face. He's described as being about 30 years old, about five feet eight inches tall with brown hair. Sometimes he sports a thin mustache. He fancies himself as a gunslinger and carries a custom made Colt. There is a younger men, little more than a boy really, who rides with him."

"Do you know this boy's name?"

"I don't have much on him."

Dillon got the feeling that the answer wasn't entirely true. It seemed as if the man from Missouri was deliberately side-stepping the question.

"I know this is your case, Cutler, but if I don't have more information it's going to be difficult for me to help you."

"I just wish there was more I could tell." Cutler got up and walked around the office for a few minutes - he was obviously ill at ease. "I'll know these men when I see them, Matt, and Clemons might recognize me anyway. I know he's probably too much for me to take down by myself, that's why I'm here."

Matt relented. There was no way he could refuse assistance to a fellow lawman who was trying to bring in a prisoner.

"Listen Matt, I need to go check at the telegraph office - maybe my deputy has wired me more news of these killers. Also I'm kind of tired after that long stagecoach journey, I think I'll go to my room and catch up on some sleep. How about I meet with you later?"

Matt agreed. At least it would give him time to send out a few inquiries of his own.

"One thing before you go, Cutler." Matt was trying to choose hie words carefully. "Whatever happened to those Tillman brothers? I heard the that Jeb Tillman wound up being killed while trying to escape before he even got to trial. I never heard what happened to his brother."

"Arlo was sentenced to fifteen years in the state penitentiary. He served about a year then escaped with two other men. He was on the run for about a month but there was a price on his head, wanted dead or alive. Some bounty hunter brought him in dead."

Matt nodded. He could always check up on that story if he needed to.

Dodge City seemed almost too quiet that evening. Perhaps it was the unusually muted sounds Dillon heard as he made his evening rounds. It took some getting used to after the raucous noise of the endless brawls and gun fights of the last few months. Eventually he was called to the Bull's Head to throw out a couple of old homesteaders. They'd been trying to drink the bar's entire supply of whisky and were now a little more drunk than the barkeep himself. It was difficult to tell who was in a worse state, but he knew the two old men quite well and they were harmless. They'd just got a little more liquor on board than they'd planned for. He helped them both onto their horses and hoped they would find their way home.

Midnight came and went and his final rounds were finished. As he usually did when he was in town, he crossed the street and looked in on the Long Branch Saloon. Clem was still sweeping the floor and Kitty was gathering the night's takings together. He pushed his way through the doors.

Without looking up from his broom, Clem called out "We're closed for the night, Mister." He was about to tell the late night customer to come back tomorrow when he realized who it was. "Oh I'm sorry Marshal, didn't see it was you."

Kitty smiled at the exchange from her vantage point at the far end of the bar.

"It's all right Clem, I can handle this unruly cowboy. You can lock up and go home, I'll turn out the last of the lamps."

She pulled a cool foamy beer into one of the recently washed and stacked mugs and set it in front of the representative of the law in Dodge City. He smiled in return and took several mouthfuls before placing the glass back on the bar.

"Another quiet evening?" he asked her.

"Yes. I sent Floyd home earlier - there wasn't enough business for two barkeeps to stay busy."

"Maybe we can talk for a while."

It wasn't long before they extinguished the oil lamps in the saloon and climbed the stairs.

With the windows open, a gentle cooling breeze found its way into Kitty's room. It was much appreciated after the hot, humid air that came with Kansas summer nights. Apart from a distant coyote's occasional howls, there was an almost eerie silence hanging over the town.

Matt removed his gun belt and placed it with his hat on the hook behind the door. Kitty poured drinks and set them on the small coffee table in front of the familiar damask settee. She kicked off her shoes and settled next to him, drawing her feet up beside her.

"So did you find out anything about our Marshal Cutler?"

"Not yet Kitty. I sent some telegrams out earlier this afternoon but haven't had any replies yet. I still get the feeling he isn't telling me everything he knows." He stopped to consider for a moment then continued. "One strange thing was he said he was going to wire his deputy for any new information since he'd left Springfield, but when I asked Charlie, he said that Cutler hadn't been near the telegraph office all day."

"Maybe he was tired and decided to wait till tomorrow," Kitty offered by way of possible explanation.

"Hmm, maybe," was the vague reply.

Matt found these quiet nights to be almost as stressful as when the herds were in town. He was on edge, expecting something to happen at any minute, but it didn't, which only served to make him more anxious. He would get used to it as the nights went on, but the sudden change from chaos to calm was unsettling to the lawman.

An hour later they were lying side by side beneath the soft linen sheets enjoying, amongst other things, the feel of the cool breeze brushing over their exhausted bodies.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

There had been a time when Coy Clemons rode with Jeb Tillman. They had pulled some very profitable bank heists together, and even managed to rob a stagecoach or two. On this occasion Jeb had decided to bring his younger brother, Arlo, along to the Joplin robbery. Clemons didn't like the idea at all. He didn't feel good about changing the way they did things, and he liked even less the idea of splitting their "takings" three ways. It resulted in an argument which ended with Clemons walking out on his long time partner.

 _Jeb and Arlo Tillman were on the run after robbing the bank in Joplin. Jeb Tillman hadn't intended to kill the bank clerk, but the old man made a move that looked like he was going for a gun and Jeb's instincts took over. He fired and the clerk fell to the floor. Jeb and his brother grabbed the neatly stacked money sacks from the safe, and barely managed to escape from town. Pretty soon it seemed that every lawman from Missouri and Kansas was on their trail. Eventually Jeb and Arlo decided their best way out of this was to split up and go in different directions. Arlo planned to head north towards Nebraska but Jeb had a wife and child living near Amarillo so he wanted to push south. It was getting difficult to travel with all that money so they stashed it in a small cave, planning to come back for it later. Arlo figured that once he crossed the North Platte he could lie low for a while until the search was abandoned, then he'd return for his share of the money. Jeb spent the night in the cave, hating to leave all that cash. In the end, he too decided that speed was more important than money right now. He took two of the smaller sacks with him and left. The remainder were well hidden and he could return for them later._

 _Arlo never made it as far as the North Platte. He was caught, tried, and sentenced to a hefty prison term. The hidden money played on his mind the whole time, and when, several months later, a chance to escape came his way he took it. Sadly that led not to the freedom he'd hoped for, but to his death._

 _Jeb arrived safely in Texas to join his wife and son. Unfortunately for him, the Texas Rangers got word of his whereabouts and, expecting him to head south to the Mexican border, put their energies into searching that direction. Jeb Tillman was smart, he decided he'd fool them by heading north, back to Kansas. That way he would be closer to joining his brother in Nebraska._

 _He set out with his family after dark one night and they rode hard. After several days of travel. his wife and son were tiring and he needed to find a place to hide out for a while. Luck seemed to be with him. Just as the sun was going down that evening, they came across a deserted shack. It was in pretty poor shape but would give them somewhere to shelter for a few nights. He felt relatively safe by now, believing that his smart move had fooled the law. Next morning before his wife and son were awake, he took a few dollars from one of the sacks and poked them in his pant's pocket. He hid the rest under the floor of the shack. What little he took would take care of his family's immediate needs and leaving the rest here would be safer than trying to take it all with him right now. The three of them stayed at the shack for three days before Jeb needed to continue north to find Arlo, but his family was slowing him down. He gave them just enough money to get by on for a few days then left them near a small town where they could find lodging. It wasn't long after that when two deputies caught up with him quite by chance, and all Jeb's dreams were blown away._

 _News of Jeb Tillman's capture near the small west Kansas town of Longville, was quick to reach Clemons. It also seemed to be common knowledge that money from the bank raid had been recovered, but $20,000 dollars was missing. Knowing his ex-partner like he did, Clemons was sure Jeb had taken the missing money and moved it to a new hiding place. He travelled to the town of Longville in the hopes of finding what exactly had happened. He sat watching patiently from a saloon window across the street from the jail, trying to find a way to get to talk to his ex-partner, but the sheriff was smart. He had guards posted around the jail 24 hours a day. Sometime later Clemons saw Jeb being led from the jail, to start the long ride back to Joplin to stand trial. He waited while the prisoner gave a final embrace to his wife and son. Clemons watched his ex-partner lean over and speak softly into the boy's ear. Tillman had not been a bad husband or father so that act, in itself, was not unusual, but Clemons knew Jeb Tillman had already figured he was as good as dead. He was taking the opportunity to pass on valuable information, most likely the location of the missing $20,000. It was reasonable to assume that Tillman would want his son to benefit from it, after all it was what he was about to die for. Tillman's son, Samuel was barely 6 years old at the time, but hopefully he listened carefully and would remember his Pa's words._

 _Clemons found out a month or two later that Tillman never made it to trial. He broke loose from the two deputies escorting him back to Joplin, and was shot and killed. Now the only living person who might know the whereabouts of that money was the boy._

 _In spite of his young age at the time, the words his father spoke softly into his ear that day became imprinted on Samuel's mind. He would never forget them. He guessed that even though they didn't make much sense to him at the time, they must have been important to his Pa. Maybe one day he would grasp their meaning._

 _After his father left town with those two men, Samuel and his mother stayed for a night or two at the only boarding-house in town, then by a series of stagecoach rides, made their way to Missouri. During one such ride, when they were the only passengers on board, his mother explained to Samuel that he would have a new name because they couldn't use Tillman anymore. Eventually they stopped in a little town just west of Joplin and "Mrs Wade'" and her son, Samuel, emerged from the stagecoach for a final time. Mrs. Wade's husband had apparently been killed in a mining accident and now she was looking for work. She was a seamstress by trade but would cook, wash dishes or even work in a saloon to earn enough money to make a home for herself and the boy._

Several years passed and Clemons had hit a low patch. Down on his luck, and with no easy money to be found, he decided it was time for young Samuel to give up the information he carried, and hopefully the money along with it.

It took him many months to track down the mother and son, but it was worth the effort. A few weeks ago he stood in an alley watching them from a distance. He needed a way to get to know them - just enough that they would trust him. After a few days he came up with a plan. Mrs Tillman, now Mrs. Wade, had not re-married and it seemed, apart from the boy, there was no other man in the house. He rode up to their place early one evening, asking if he could sleep in the barn. Next morning Mrs. Wade fed him breakfast and he volunteered, in return, to do a few essential repairs around the house. She seemed grateful and didn't hurry him to move on. As he worked he got to know Samuel pretty well. Carefully he started talking to the boy who was by now almost twelve years old. He began taking the boy fishing and then on hunting trips. Mrs. Tillman grew to trust Clemons. She was pleased to see a "father figure" taking an interest in her son and teaching him skills that a man should know.

Once Clemons had gained Samuel's confidence he began to ask him about his father. It was difficult at first for the boy to remember. His mother had told him that his father died in a mining accident. That was all she would ever say, but he remembered a time before that. His memories weren't clear but he remembered the hurried ride across Kansas to an old shack where all of them stayed for a few days. It was peaceful and he was excited to have his mother and father together. Sadly those few happy days didn't last long. He remembered standing in the street of an old town and some whispered words his father told him. Clemons didn't explain anything to him - just asked him what those words where, maybe he could help figure them out. Clemons of course immediately understood the vague instructions to return to that shack. He asked the boy if he would like to visit that place where the family had stayed for their final days together. He warned Samuel not to tell his mother about their conversations, she might not let them go if she found out. Maybe a trip to that old shack would help him remember his real Pa. Clemons would take him. They could camp out and maybe go fishing. The boy didn't need much persuading and by now trusted Coy completely. Mrs. Wade willingly gave her permission for the two to go off on a trip. It would be a good experience for her son.

They found the small dusty town where the boy had stopped with his mother and seen his father for the last time. Samuel barely remembered it, but the old boarding house and the sheriff's office seemed familiar when they rode in. Clemons knew this was the town where Jeb said goodbye to Samuel but was pleased when the boy seemed to remember it too. Maybe now he would remember the old shack and be able to find the money. Clemons didn't really care what happened to the boy after that.

Coy Clemons didn't want to stay in Longville. He was worried that someone might recognize him from six years ago. He asked around in one of the sleazy saloons and found what he thought he was looking for - the location of an old run-down shack not too far from Dawson's creek. It was about two day's ride away.

The following afternoon they found Dawson's creek and Samuel was excited that at last they might get to camp out and go fishing, but soon those ideas got pushed aside. The boy had no idea that his father had been on the run - or that the heavy sacks he carried contained more money than he could ever imagine. He just knew that the words in his head told him to return to the shack near Dawson's Creek when he was older, and look under the floor in front of the fireplace.

Coy Clemons heard two men approaching. At first he was worried that it might be the law, but this pair were singing and laughing loud enough to be heard in the next county. They acted as if they'd been drinking. He told young Samuel to go hide out of the way, just in case things got out of hand. After all drunks could cause trouble just as easily as sober men.

He watched the two riders as they approached. Seeing that they had no intention of leaving this part of the creek he went out to meet them. The man with the stiff leg was the first to see him. Clemons noticed that he was not wearing a gun so approached smiling and extending his right hand.

"Howdy Stranger!" he offered as a welcome.

The man turned and looked at him for a moment. Apparently he saw no threat and shook the offered hand.

"Chester Goode," the man with the stiff leg announced, and then indicated his friend, "and this here's Hank Whitehead."

"Roy Cummings," Coy replied. Giving a false name was almost second nature to him, after all you never really knew who you were talking to.

"You got a camp here?" The man with the stiff leg asked, looking around as he led his horse down to the small creek. His companion was following closely behind.

Coy didn't want to stick around and get into conversation with these two. He needed to take the boy and go look for a shack that the kid only halfway remembered.

"I did have," Clemons said, "But I was just about to move on when you rode up."

"You sure we're not pushing you out?"

"No, I'm packing to leave. I got somewhere to be by nightfall. I just stopped here for an hour or two to give me and the horse a rest."

With that Clemons hoisted his saddle up onto his shoulder and headed off towards a nearby clump of bushes. Chester didn't think too much about it. He could hear noises back there and presumed it was where the stranger had his horse tied.

"Com'on Hank, let's get these fishing poles set up and see if we can catch us some supper."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Jim Cutler returned to the Dodge House. He was tired - it had been a long day - longer than most he'd been used to these last few weeks. He stretched out on the bed trying to relax, but whichever way he turned he couldn't quite get comfortable. His mind was in a turmoil. It worried him that he hadn't convinced Dillon of the need to find Clemons, and more importantly, the young man accompanying him. Eventually he got up from the bed and retrieved a small bottle he had buried amongst the few clothes in his carpetbag. He removed the cap with a slightly shaky hand, and took a swig. The liquid tasted bitter but he knew that in a short while it would bring sleep.

xxxxx

Dillon pulled a well-used key from his pocket and unlocked the door to the US Marshal's office. It wasn't quite daylight yet, but he had some thinking to do. He tidied up the papers on his desk and lit a fire in the stove. He sat for a while going over in his mind, all that he knew about Cutler, Tillman and Coy Clemons. He had to admit he didn't know much about any of them and he was getting nowhere. Maybe an early breakfast would help. He checked the stove again, and added another stick of wood before heading out to Delmonico's. He would stop by the telegraph office on the way and see if there were replies to any of the wires he'd sent out yesterday.

He was surprised to see Doc Adams already eating. The man looked more exhausted than usual and Matt could only surmise that the physician had been up all night with a patient.

Although each man admired and respected the other for the job they did, a little teasing was inevitable between the two friends. Matt put on his most affable smile as he pulled out a chair and sat across from Adams at the small table.

"You're looking all bright and cheery this morning Doctor!"

Doc looked up from the bowl of hash he was eating and scowled.

"Pshaw! Looks like you got a good night's sleep, even if I didn't." He consumed another mouthful or two before looking up again. "I hear you have an old friend in town. Kitty says you might have some doubts about his intentions."

"Kitty's your private informant now?"

"When needs must."

Matt became serious. Doc was always a man of sound advice. "I'm just not sure about him, Doc. I tracked a couple of killers with him about six years ago, and suddenly he shows up here with a story about another pair of fugitives on the run. Trouble is he doesn't seem to have much information on them - or maybe he does, and he's not sharing it with me. It just seems to make no sense."

"The only advice I can give you is be careful what you get drawn into."

"That's not much help."

"I have to go." Doc took a final swallow of his coffee as he stood up and gathered his medical bag from the seat beside him. "I've got a woman in labor over at Ma Smalley's, so I can't sit here talking with the likes of you all morning."

When Matt finally made it back to the jail, the place seemed eerily quiet without Chester's constant chattering. There hadn't been any answers to the telegrams he'd sent out, but there were a few pieces of mail he'd picked up at the depot. Among them was an official brown envelope which he opened carefully. It contained six new wanted posters. Interestingly enough, one of them featured a man by the name of Coy Clemons, wanted for attempted robbery and murder. There was a two thousand dollar reward for his capture, but nothing about the younger partner Cutler had mentioned. The picture on the circular corresponded well with the description that the marshal from Missouri had given him. Strangely, there was no mention of the other brutal murders which Cutler had talked about. Still, Dillon had to give Marshal Cutler the benefit of the doubt, after all Clemons was wanted, dead or alive.

He folded the circular neatly and tucked it into his vest pocket.

xxxxx

James L Cutler was a little disoriented when he first woke up. It took him a while to remember that he was in the Dodge House Hotel. It was almost mid-morning so he must have slept through the night and a good few hours of the day as well. Already the strains of out of tune pianos were entering his room along with the dust and smells that characterized the Kansas cow town. He sat up carefully, still feeling the effects of the liquid he'd consumed the night before. After a few minutes he managed to stand, and spent some time gazing out of the window onto the street below. As everyone had told him, the town was quiet now that the summer herds had left. He didn't see Dillon, but a man with a stiff leg was securing a horse to the hitching rail outside the marshal's office. He watched as the man stepped up onto the boardwalk and disappeared inside the jail.

Dillon had a reputation for being a fair lawman. He was tough, fast with the gun and not someone Cutler wanted to cross. Dillon was also incorruptible and so Cutler knew he had a tough time ahead of him. Even so he swore he would do whatever was necessary to complete his plan. His travel bag was on the table near the door - he opened it and feeling carefully for the inside pocket, his fingers finally found a small picture frame. He pulled it out and smiled at the image it contained.

Another half hour passed before he descended the stairs and saw the clerk, Howie, standing behind the registration desk. Cutler stopped and exchanged pleasantries with him before leaving the hotel and crossing the street to the Long Branch Saloon. He hoped that maybe he'd be lucky enough to hear information there that would help him bring this trip, and possibly his life, to a satisfactory conclusion.

There was plenty of room at the bar, but Kitty Russell saw him first and called to him. She was sitting at a table with two men. One of them was the man with the stiff leg he'd seen enter Dillon's office a short while ago. The other was an older, disheveled looking man with a grey, ragged mustache covering his upper lip.

"Come and join us," she called to him. "Doctor Adams, Chester Goode, this is Marshal Cutler from Missouri. He's here to see Matt." Kitty was still very suspicious of him but wanted the others to meet him - especially Doc who was a good judge of character and would often come up with something no one else had thought of.

Up until now Cutler had considered himself to be a good marshal. He had to admit he'd bent the system a time or two for his own benefit, but along the way he'd developed a lawman's instincts. He could read people fairly accurately. He knew Kitty was suspicious of his motives - and rightly so. He watched her as she introduced the others. None of her doubts crept into her voice or her eyes. She was going to let her companions make up their own minds.

After the formalities were over and Adams explained that everyone called him "Doc", Cutler sat down to join them. It wasn't long before Adams looked at Cutler.

"So what brings you to Dodge, Marshal. Not enough excitement in your own town?"

Cutler managed a smile, "Nothing like that. There's a pair of outlaws I'm tracking and it looks like they are headed this way. They have committed some brutal crimes back in Missouri and I need to take them home to stand trial."

"So you need Mr. Dillon's help, do ya?" Chester chimed in, thinking he had jumped right to the heart of the problem. It seemed to him that everyone came to his boss looking for help when things got tough.

"Maybe."

Kitty returned to the table with a coffee for Cutler.

It wasn't long before Dillon joined the small group. When the conversation hit a temporary low point, he took the wanted poster from his vest pocket and smoothed it out on the table in front of Cutler.

"Is this the man you're after?" Cutler looked at the picture for a moment. Meantime Chester, always curious, looked over the Missouri man's shoulder to see the poster. He looked surprised.

'Mr. Dillon!" he said quietly looking sideways at his boss, "I seen that man."

Dillon turned quickly to face him. "When?"

"When me and Hank were fishing. We saw him camped by that fishing hole near Dawson Creek. The one where Doc likes to stop when he goes to see ol' man Benson. Don'tcha Doc?" Chester nodded towards Adams with a wide smirk - he thought he'd caught the physician out on that one.

Adams ignored the remark.

"That's a day or more ride from here," Matt said thoughtfully.

"Yes Sir, Mr. Dillon, it's every bit of that," Chester agreed.

"Was there a younger man with him?" Cutler was more anxious than he wanted to admit - he really needed to find that boy soon.

Chester looked vague, "I think he was alone, but I'm not sure."

For a moment it looked like Cutler was going to reach across the table and grab Chester - he wanted that information so urgently. Matt noticed the change in mood and laid a calming hand on the other lawman's arm. "We'll go check it out, maybe ride up that way later today."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The ride to Dawson Creek was not a pleasant prospect but Matt agreed that he and Cutler had an obligation to go check it out. He felt confident in Chester's ability to recognize the man on the poster but had no idea why anyone would be camping in that desolate part of the country, unless of course it was merely to hide from the law. The only sign of civilization near Dawson's Creek was the old shack belonging to Benson, and a small dusty town that was barely big enough to even deserve a name. Benson was a half- breed Kiowa trapper who looked as old and run-down as the shack he'd lived in for the last five years. The place was pretty much falling down when he found it but he'd fixed it up enough for his own purpose. Neither Matt nor Doc could figure out how he managed to survive out there alone with no crops or animals, except for an old mule, but he did. Doc estimated that the man must be at least eighty years old. Nobody, even Benson himself, knew for sure. The only certainty was he couldn't be persuaded to move closer to Dodge. Doc had tried on numerous occasions but the stubborn trapper was determined to live out what remained of his life on that barren piece of land.

Dillon consoled himself with the thought that even if they didn't find Clemons, they could at least check on Benson. Doc gave him a bottle of "tonic" to deliver to the old man. From the smell of it it was mostly alcohol, but Adams had assured him that Kiowa trapper would make it last a month or more. He just liked to take a sip or two in the evening to help him sleep. Living in isolation near Dawson Creek, that was about the only pleasure the man had to look forward to each day.

It was well into the afternoon before they left, even though the Missouri Marshal was anxious to get started. Matt had assured him that if the man they were looking for had been at Dawson creek, it wouldn't be too difficult to pick up his trail. Nothing except a few coyotes and rattlesnakes managed to survive out there — except for old man Benson of course. Even Dawson Creek came and went with the seasons, which was why Doc's friends teased him about trying to fish there.

They headed northeast from Dodge and stopped four hours later to rest the horses. Matt was still curious about Cutler's intentions and hoped he could get him to talk. As he watched his companion dismount and loosen the cinch on his horse, Dillon thought the Missouri man looked tired, almost ill. His complexion was just a little too pale - he hadn't noticed that back in Dodge.

Matt led his horse down to the small trickle of water that ran from a freshwater spring alongside the track they were following. He patted the animal on the neck while giving him the opportunity to drink.

"You doing all right, Cutler," he called over his shoulder, trying to sound casual but giving the Missouri marshal an opportunity to explain if he needed to. No answer was forthcoming. He checked the canteens he carried - and refilled one that was already half empty. Water shouldn't be a problem on this trip but it was always better to have too much than not enough.

Cutler had followed Dillon's lead and moving slowly, brought his horse down to the spring's edge, allowing the animal a few minutes to drink.

"We'll follow this trail for another two or three hours before making camp for the night. Tomorrow we' ll head more north to the place where Chester saw Clemons."

Cutler didn't say much. Dillon definitely thought the man looked ill. "We can stop sooner if you need to," he offered. Maybe this marshal from Missouri was not used to long hours in the saddle. He would just have to keep an eye on him.

The afternoon wore on. At one point he saw Cutler take a small flask from his saddle bag and drink a mouthful. Matt himself carried a small bottle of whisky in his pack - but only used it in absolute emergency . Something definitely seemed wrong with his fellow traveller.

Towards evening they made camp for the night. Matt had managed to shoot a couple of rabbits about an hour before they stopped, and already had them cooking over a fire.

Cutler sat nearby on a fallen tree limb. Eventually Matt decided it was time to learn the truth.

"I think you owe me an honest explanation," he stated as he handed Cutler a freshly made mug of coffee.

The Missouri marshal looked at Dillon vaguely for a moment or two. He took the hot mug and placed it on the ground beside him. "I thought I told you, I have to find Clemons and take him back. He has done too much damage to people in my town. I can't let him continue."

Matt looked at him then took a mouthful of the brew from his own cup. He leaned towards the fire and carefully turned the stick holding their supper. "There's more to it than that. It's a long time since we rode together, Jim, but I know there's something you're not telling me."

The Missouri Marshal said nothing for a long time. Both men sipped their coffee in silence. The meat eventually cooked and Matt divided it onto two tin plates.

"Suppose you're honest with me - now that you've had time to think." He handed one plate to Cutler and looked him directly in the eyes. He saw pain there - but something else too. Cutler couldn't hold his gaze.

"I told you, I want to take Clemons back for trial."

"There's more than that - what about that younger man you're so interested in."

"Oh he's nothing - barely an accomplice, he just needs to come back to clear his name.'

Matt wasn't convinced. He sat gnawing on the meat he'd cooked - he never did care too much for his own cooking, but this meal was proving tougher than usual for more reasons than the meat he was trying to chew.

"I have a few questions about your story. I also know that you're not feeling so good." Matt looked away from the other lawman, trying to give him time to gather words of explanation.

Cutler could hardly face his companion. Surely Dillon didn't know him that well. After all it was six years since they'd ridden together. The first doubt began to creep into his mind about whether his carefully calculated plan was going to work. He had to say something to make the weeks of meticulous planning pay off. He decided to tell the truth - well as much as was necessary to satisfy his observant friend.

"Matt, I didn't get around to telling you. Guess I didn't want everybody to know. I hate people looking at me and feeling sorry. About two months ago I took a bullet that should have killed me. It didn't do that, but the Doc wasn't able to remove it - said it was too close to my heart. It's still in me and I can feel it from to time."

Matt was surprised, but it did help him make sense out of some things he'd noticed.

"So what's going to happen."

"They told me it was likely the bullet would move and eventually kill me."

Matt thought about that for a moment or two - it made him reflect on how many close calls he'd had, and how many bullets Doc had managed to dig out of him. It could happen to anyone in this line of business.

"So should you be out here? You could just have sent a wire and let me handle it."

"No Matt, I need to do this. It's my problem not yours."

Cutler sat staring at his food - somehow he wasn't that hungry. He hated what he was doing, but he had to find a way to keep going. He owed it to his wife. He felt guilty because he knew he owed Dillon too, but Dillon could take care of himself and Althea couldn't - especially with that young baby. The baby, a girl, had been quite a surprise to both of them. His two older sons were nearly grown enough to leave home and fend for themselves, but that little girl and his wife - he had to make provision for them. A marshal's pay left little opportunity to save enough money to support a family. He hoped Matt would understand. The alternative was something he would hate to have to do.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Once they got near the place where Chester had described seeing Clemons, it wasn't difficult to pick up the trail taken by the outlaw and his fellow rider. The boy was riding an unshod pony so it was easy to distinguish their tracks from others that had passed this way. It seemed to Matt that Clemons knew exactly where he was heading because the tracks took a straight path with very little detour. He figured they were less than a day behind the pair now, and didn't feel the need to hurry too much since the man they were tracking showed no indication that he knew he was being followed.

Matt pulled back slightly on the reins to slow his horse, giving Cutler a chance to catch up. The man definitely looked the worse for wear now, so Matt decided they would stop in a small, nearby town he knew to let the Missouri marshal rest up for a day. If necessary Matt had no problem leaving Cutler there and going on ahead by himself to apprehend Coy Clemons.

He turned in the saddle to look behind him as Cutler approached.

"There's a town - name of Longville just to our North. I know the sheriff there. They have a small hotel and I think maybe a night in a bed would do you good. We can continue tomorrow. Clemons and his friend don't seem to be in any hurry so no need for us to push ourselves too hard."

"I just want to catch up with him Matt."

"I know you do - but no sense in killing yourself to do it."

Longville was even more run-down than Matt remembered. The only businesses that seemed to be flourishing were the four seedy saloons which flanked Main Street. The hotel was in bad need of repair, but if he remembered correctly the rooms were reasonably clean and the beds fairly comfortable.

He pulled up at the hitching rail in front of the hotel and glanced quickly behind to make sure that Cutler was following. Once inside he was surprised to find the lobby clean and well furnished. An elderly man sat dozing behind the desk, probably taking the opportunity to catch up on some sleep, or escape the boredom of a dying town. Dillon tapped on the counter to get the clerk's attention. The old man woke and looked at him, vague recognition dawning on his face.

"You've been here before, but it was a long time ago."

Matt nodded. "You've got a good memory. Matt Dillon from Dodge City."

"Yes I remember. You need a room?"

"I need two," Matt replied as Jim Cutler came though the door. He really looked drained and Matt began to wonder if he should have allowed him to make this trip at all.

"Is Sheriff Thompson still around?" he asked the clerk as he signed the register.

"Oh yes," the clerk looked at him with tired eyes, "but like all of us he's getting a bit long in the tooth."

Matt saw to it that Cutler was settled in a room and then went to take the horses to the livery stable. On the way back he took the opportunity to stop by the sheriff's office.

Sheriff Ben Thompson was a balding man, a little overweight maybe, but he had a clear eye and a sharp mind.

"Tell me Ben, do you remember a prisoner by the name of Jeb Tillman. He would have been here about six or seven years ago. He had a brother, name of Arlo. They'd held up a bank in Missouri, killing the clerk. Arlo was captured soon after the robbery but was killed while attempting to escape from prison. Jeb managed to remain on the run for a while and I think two of your deputies eventually ran him down and brought him back here before returning him to Missouri."

The Sheriff stood scratching his head for a while before he recalled the event. "I sure do Matt."

He stopped for a moment and opened a desk draw, pulling out a whisky bottle and a pair of shot glasses. He placed the glasses on the desk and half filled each of them. "Let me think a moment." He took a swallow before continuing. "Yes," he said slowly."I clearly remember the day they took him away. Jeb Tillman had a beautiful wife and a young son - the boy was about six years old maybe. I think Tillman thought the world of them but just had to pull that one last job. He used to ride with another man…" The sheriff was trying to dig up a name from his memory.

"Could it have been Coy Clemons?" Matt suggested after giving his friend a few moments to consider.

Sheriff Thompson thought briefly, "I think you might be right Matt. Is it important?"

"I'm not sure but maybe it is."

Both men were silent for a moment before Thompson continued. "On that final bank job, Clemons wasn't there, was he? Jeb rode with his younger brother. If I remember, an unarmed bank clerk was killed. Tillman would swing for that and he knew it. He tried to outrun the law but my boys caught up with him. He'd been traveling with his wife and kid but they slowed him down too much. I think he might have got clean away if he'd been alone. Apparently he left them somewhere near here and took off by himself but it was too late, he was captured a day or so later. The woman and boy were here the day he was taken away. Sad scene." The old Sheriff stopped for a moment shaking his head and recalling vividly what he had watched through the office window.. "My deputies gave him a moment to say goodbye to his wife and kid before they left."

Matt was thinking fast now. "You know that not all the money from that robbery was found, don't you?"

"I remember, $50,000 was taken, wasn't it?"

"It was. I helped a lawman, Jim Cutler from Missouri, track the Tillman brothers. We never did catch up with either of them but we found the money. By the time it got back to the bank in Joplin it was $20,000 short."

"I didn't know that, Matt." Sheriff Thompson raised the whisky bottle inviting Matt to join him in a second glass - Matt shook his head, "No thanks Ben, I need to find something to eat first."

Matt remembered, but didn't explain to the sheriff that it was Cutler's idea to quit trailing the two outlaws once he'd found the money. They'd been after them for almost two weeks. The weather had been bad and Cutler claimed he couldn't continue. Anyway it seemed like at least one of the outlaws was about to cross into Texas. Cutler would send word to the Texas authorities to be on the lookout for Jeb Tillman and meantime he'd personally return the money to the bank. Dillon hated giving up like that, but it was Cutler's case. There wasn't much left for him to do but head back to Dodge.

"Did Tillman have any money on him when he was brought here?"

"Only a few dollars. I searched his wife's hotel room and there was none there either. She and the boy hardly had enough to live on. Maybe it was slowing him down too much and he stashed it somewhere. Maybe Jeb or Arlo planned to go back for it later."

"Mmm." Matt looked thoughtful. "Tell me what happened to the wife and boy."

"I don't know, they stayed here for a few days after Tillman was taken away - then they left town on the stage heading East. That's all I know."

"Could he have told them anything about the money?"

"Not as far as I know. I didn't allow visitors." The sheriff drained his shot glass and looked up as a thought hit him. "I was watching through the window there," he indicated the window at the front of the office. It looked out on Main Street. "Tillman did embrace his wife and then his son for a minute or two then he told the boy to take care of his mother - that's about all."

Matt thanked his old friend and was about to leave the sheriff's office in search of something to eat and a place to think for a while. He'd gained a little information but nothing that answered his questions about the missing money.

Ben Thompson had a thought. "Hold on a minute Matt! There's something else I remember. Your mention of Clemons…he was here in town the day they took Tillman away."

Matt had almost opened the door to leave. He stopped abruptly and turned to look and the sheriff. "You sure about that?"

"Oh yes. He was drinking in the saloon across the street that evening. There were no active circulars on him at the time so I couldn't lock him up. I asked him why he and Tillman had parted ways."

"Did he have an answer?"

"Yes, he'd had a few too many drinks and said something about he didn't like Jeb bringing his young brother along. Then he realized he was talking too much and left. He never even finished his whisky bottle."

"Thank you Ben." Matt reached out to shake the sheriff's hand. "We'll be leaving town in the morning. You've given me a lot to think about."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Samuel's memory of the old shack where he and his parents stopped all those years ago wasn't clear, but he hadn't forgotten the words his father had whispered.

"Go back to that old shack when you're older. Under the floor in front of the fireplace."

This had to be the shack - there wasn't anything else for miles around. Samuel couldn't be perfectly sure but as Coy Clemons had said there was no harm in checking it out. As he and Clemons got closer to the shack it was obvious that someone was living there now. Smoke poured from the chimney and an old mule stood quietly in a corral out back.

Clemons told the boy to be quiet, "We'll just watch for a while," he said. "Maybe we'll go down there later and see what's going on."

They tied the horses in a small grove of trees and sat watching. An old man appeared. He went to the corral to throw hay to the mule. A little later he came out again and hauled a bucket of water from the well. He didn't move too fast, but he stood erect, and occasionally raised his eyes to check the horizon.

After an hour or two, Clemons got tired of waiting. He was anxious to find if this was where Tillman left that money. Somehow he felt he had a right to it, after all he had been Jeb's partner for many years. In his mind Jeb would have wanted him to have it. He told Samuel it was time to go talk to the old man.

xxxxx

Matt lay on his bed thinking. He'd checked on Cutler who was sleeping soundly in the next room. He tried to imagine what could have driven the man from Missouri to travel all this distance after Coy Clemons, when it would have been much easier to send a wire to Dodge City where Matt could have kept an eye out for him. He hated to admit it, but he knew that somehow the money was at least partly responsible for bringing Jim Cutler here.

He knew that Cutler had two sons but they must be in their mid-teens by now. He also remembered Cutler's wife - she was a beautiful woman, a good many years younger than her husband and totally devoted to him. Matt had often wondered if Cutler took any of that money. $20,000 was a big temptation. It would keep a small family in comfort for a long time. If that had been the case, though, why would he still be a lawman, and why would he be out here now? This whole thing had to be connected to the money. He wondered if there was anyway that Clemons could know where it was. Ben Thompson had said that Clemons was in town when Tillman was led away. Maybe Cutler knew something about that too. That much money would be a pretty good reason for a sick man to travel so far from home.

Matt's musings must have eventually caused him to fall asleep because it seemed all too soon when the dawn light forced its way through the grubby curtains covering the window of his room. It was shortly followed by a knock at the door which he opened to find Cutler standing there. The man was anxious to get back on the road.

They stopped for a quick breakfast at the saloon across the street from the hotel, then headed out to pick up Clemons' trail once more.

The boy's unshod pony made it an easy task to locate the tracks they had been following the previous evening. Slowly an uneasy feeling began to rise in Matt's mind. They seemed to be heading directly for Ol' Man Benson's place. What could that have to do with the money from the bank robbery? The longer they followed the direction that Clemons seemed to be taking, the more concerned Matt became. Maybe it was just coincidence but Matt didn't think so. He turned in his saddle to see Cutler who was a few yards behind him.

"I think I know where they're headed," he called urgently. " and I don't want any harm to come to the old man who lives there."

Dillon spurred his horse into a lope. They were less than an hour from Benson's place now, and he wanted to get there as quickly as possible. The horse seemed to sense his rider's urgency and willingly moved into a faster gait. Cutler also seemed to find some previously untapped strength and managed to keep up.

Dillon stopped about a hundred yards from the shack where Benson lived and signaled to Cutler to dismount. They left the horses grazing on a small patch of prairie grass left over from the summer months, and moved forward carefully to a place from where they could observe the dilapidated cabin.

"Why have we stopped here?" Cutler asked. Matt pointed out the horse and the pony tied outside the small barn. "You think Clemons is in there?" Cutler questioned.

"I don't know for sure, but I do know that an innocent old man lives there and he doesn't need the likes of Coy Clemons hanging around."

Matt would have watched for a little longer trying to figure the best way to avoid anyone getting hurt, but all his thoughts were pushed aside when a shot came from the shack followed by a strangled scream.

Matt grabbed his gun from its holster and ran down the small hill to the cabin. Cutler was much slower off the mark. It took him a while to follow.

Matt kicked the front door of the shack so that it flew open. A quick glance inside showed a terrible scene. Ol' man Benson was lying on the floor - his face was a bloody mess but that isn't what killed him. There was a flower-like bloodstain on the front of his shirt where a bullet had ripped into him. Clemons was standing by a small table in the center of the room on which two bank sacks lay surrounded by paper money. In the corner a young boy probably about twelve or thirteen years old, crouched with his hands hiding his eyes from the horrific scene in front of him.

"Clemons, you're under arrest for murder! Drop your gun and put your hands up."

Clemons looked at the marshal and a smirk crossed his face. He leapt to the corner of the room and grabbed the boy, using him as a shield.

"What've you got to say now Marshal? I'm getting out of here with the money and you won't stop me. If you try, I'll kill young Samuel here."

"Put down your gun, maybe we can discuss this."

Clemons laughed and lifted his gun. "One more dead man won't make any difference to me, Marshal."

The gun was aimed squarely at Dillon who couldn't help but watch as the hammer pulled back. There was nothing he could do. One thought ran through his head. This was not how he wanted to die. Then suddenly the stillness was broken. A gun fired and Clemons fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Dillon looked up to see Cutler standing in the doorway. He'd had a clear shot and taken it.

Dillon hurried to pick up the gun by the fallen man's side. He checked the pulse in his neck, just to be sure. There really was no need. It was obvious that Coy Clemons was dead

The Kansas marshal turned to the man from Missouri.

"Thanks," was all he could say.

Cutler went to the table to check the money sacks from the bank while Matt took the boy outside.

"What's your name son?" he asked, as he pointed to a broken-down wagon by the corral for the boy to sit on.

"Samuel Wade, sir." The boys voice was still trembling.

"Well Samuel, you're safe now. I'm a United States Marshal. You stay out here until I've got this mess cleaned up, then I'm going to see about getting you home."

He left Samuel and returned to the cabin. Cutler had gathered up the money and had it neatly contained in the two sacks clearly marked with the banks name.

"I'll be taking this with me, Matt," he said. There was a look in his eyes that Dillon didn't understand at first.

"It would be easier if we take it back to the bank to Dodge. It can be transferred to Missouri from there, " he offered.

"No, you don't understand. I'm taking this money for me. For years I've worked for the Marshal's Service. You know what a marshal's pay's like. How many bullets have you taken, Matt? I know that my paycheck, when I get one, is nowhere near enough to cover the dangers we face every day. I have a wife and baby daughter now to think about - I'm not going to be around to support them much longer. They need this money."

"Do you think that would really work, Jim? Do you really think Althea would want to live on stolen money?"

"She wont know where it came from - I have a plan for that too."

"Tell me about your daughter, Jim. I just remember the two boys."

Matt was edging towards the table. Maybe he could up-end it and surprise Cutler for long enough to grab his gun.

"Don't try it Matt," Cutler seemed to be aware of his intentions. "My mind is made up. I don't want to kill you but I will if I have too. My family has to come first."

"Your Daughter, Jim, what's her name?"

Cutler was distracted for a moment. "It was a surprise to both of us. We didn't think Althea would have any more babies. Alice is barely six months old Matt. She'll never know me."

Matt felt sorry for his fellow lawman. It was the one thing that always stood in the way for him. That thought of leaving a family with no one to protect them. Kids not even knowing their father. He came abruptly back to the present.

"What about the boy out there?" Dillon continued to play for time. Maybe an opportunity would arise and give him a way out of this if he could keep the Missouri man talking.

"I'll see he gets home all right, Matt. Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to him."

"You know he's going to have a lot of questions. What are you going to tell him?"

Matt was almost there. One more step and he could push the table over and grab Cutler's gun. But Cutler could see what he was planning, For the second time in less than an hour Matt was looking at a gun aimed directly at him. He saw his opponent's finger tighten on the trigger. He had no alternative. Diving to the floor, he simultaneously pulled his own gun and fired. At the very moment his own gun went off, he felt a burning pain in his left arm - Cutler was good with a gun. He could have killed him if he'd wanted to.

Matt could see that his own bullet had found its mark. A growing red stain over his one time friend's chest showed how deadly accurate he had been. He knelt down beside the man he'd ridden with years ago.

"I didn't want to shoot you, Jim. You didn't give me much choice." Matt picked up Cutler's hat and used it to prop his friend's head.

"I had to try Matt. It was all I could do." He gave a gut-wrenching cough. "Please…." he gave quick gasp, "please do what you can for Althea and Alice." He coughed again and blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. His body went limp.

Matt checked for a pulse but he already knew that Jim Cutler was dead. He reached over and pulled the badge from his friend's shirt. He closed his fingers around it before pushing it into his own vest pocket. Somehow he would get it to Cutler's wife. At least the little girl could have that much to remember her father by. It was the least he could do. He stood up and for the first time noticed the bloodstain on his own shirt. He looked at the wound in his arm. The bullet was still in there but it wasn't too deep. He should be able to make it to Dodge before it caused him too much problem. He took the bandana from his back pocket and using his teeth and right hand managed to tie it around the injury to slow the blood flow a little.

He stood there for a moment looking at the bloody scene around him. Three bodies lay on the floor. Three men were dead because of two bags of money. Life didn't make a lot of sense sometimes.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Samuel "Wade" had a lot of sense for his 12 years. Dillon wanted to spare him from going back inside the shack and seeing those three bodies. He sent him to tend to the horses while he set about burying the dead. It was a grizzly task, not made any easier by his wounded arm. At last he had them all buried deep enough that coyotes wouldn't get to them. He stood for a while between the graves of Cutler and the old man who'd been living here. Benson was just an innocent bystander to the whole ordeal but here he lay because of one man's greed. Cutler's story was a little more complicated. Matt didn't agree with his reasoning, but who could say what lengths a man would go to under his circumstances. He removed his hat, bowed his head, and silently quoted what he thought were appropriate words for the occasion. After a moment or two he turned and walked slowly back to the cabin. He needed to take Samuel, and himself, away from this place as quickly as possible

They started back for Dodge that evening while there were still a few hours of daylight left. He hid the money sacks in a pair of old saddlebags he found out back of Benson's shack, then tied them to the mule. If they should meet anyone on the road it wouldn't attract attention.

While they camped that night, Samuel told him how Clemons had shown up at his mother's house, done some small repairs for her and then started taking him fishing. Samuel admitted he had always been curious as to what had happened to his father because all his mother would tell him was that he had died in a mining accident. Other than that she wouldn't talk about him at all. Clemons started asking Samuel about his Pa, and the boy was only too happy to talk about what little he remembered. When Clemons suggested taking a camping trip and looking for the old shack where Samuel and his family had stayed that time, he was only too eager to go along with the idea.

"So I guess a lot of this was my fault, Marshal," he concluded.

Matt thought for a moment. He didn't want the boy to think that at all. He poked at their campfire a minute before turning to face him.

"Remember one thing Samuel, none of it was your fault. Coy Clemons was looking for that money. He was a wanted man on the run from the law. He thought your father knew where the money was hidden and that he'd passed that information on to you. Clemons was responsible for what happened back there, not you."

Samuel thought for a moment trying to rationalize what he'd been told.

"Where did the money come from?" the boy asked.

Dillon didn't want to tell the young boy how his father had killed a man and taken that money. Or that his father had been on the run. He knew eventually young Samuel would discover those facts for himself but he didn't want to be the one to tell him. Certainly this was not the time or place for such a discussion. He settled for a simple answer and hoped it would suffice for now.

"It was stolen from a bank," he said.

"That's what Mr. Clemons wanted all along, wasn't it? He really wasn't interested in helping me find out about my Pa. He just wanted that money." The boy was quiet for a few minutes and Matt had nothing to say to break the silence.

"The money wasn't where my Pa had said. The old man had found it and moved it. Mr. Clemons beat him to make him tell where it was. I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen. He pushed me out of the way and kept hitting him. Still the old man wouldn't say anything. In the end Mr. Clemons started tearing the place apart until he found it. Then he shot the old man. I was scared, Marshal. I thought Mr. Clemons was my friend."

"It wasn't your fault Samuel. Clemons was already wanted for murder. There is no way you could have stopped him. If I had got here sooner maybe old Benson would still be alive, but it was nothing you could have stopped by yourself."

Fortunately Samuel was tired and soon they laid saddle blankets on the ground, secured the horses and mule, and turned in for a night's rest. Matt couldn't sleep. His arm throbbed but that wasn't what kept him awake. He kept thinking about Jim Cutler. A man who knew he was going to die. A man who had a young child who would never know him. Somehow he would make sure that Althea got something out of this other than a telegram from Washington telling her that her husband had been killed. Matt wasn't afraid of dying. It was a fact of life that went along with the badge he wore. He just couldn't imagine himself in Cutler's situation knowing he was about to die and leave a family behind.

One question had been answered. They all wondered how Benson managed to live out there on that barren stretch of land. Now he knew. He'd found all that money but spent hardly any of it. Just enough to provide for his very basic needs.

It was late afternoon by the time Matt and young Samuel rode into Dodge. Matt gave Chester the task of taking the boy to the telegraph office and sending a wire to his mother to let her know he was safe and in Dodge City. Once Chester and the boy had left Dillon stowed the money in the office safe. It would be good there until he could notify the bank in Joplin that it had been recovered.

Doc was leaving his office to go for supper. He had got as far as the third step going down the stairs when he saw Dillon.

"About time you came home." He was about to rebuke his friend further when he noticed the blood soaked bandana. "Come on up and let me take a look at that."

Doc studied the wound for a while, "Not too bad. Not very deep but it looks like that bullet's been in there for a few days."

Matt knew better than to argue. Doc arranged his instruments in the way he wanted them, all the time asking Matt questions.

"Where's Marshal Cutler? I didn't see him with you when you rode in." Matt knew that Doc saw everything that went on in Dodge City.

"He's dead Doc."

"How did that happen?" Matt flinched a little as Doc probed for the bullet. "Hold still now, how do you expect me to do this with you moving all over the place?"

"Arresting Coy Clemons. The fugitive he was after."

"Is Clemons dead too?"

"Yes …Ouch Doc what are you using there. I though you said it wasn't that bad."

"Goodness me! Stop acting like a baby. How did you get shot anyway?"

"It was an accident, a stray bullet, a ricochet… I don't know really."

Doc knew his friend too well. "I know you're not telling me the whole story."

Doc was silent for a moment or two while he concentrated on removing the bullet. "Strange," he said holding the bullet up to inspect it. "It doesn't look like a ricochet. It's too smooth to have hit something else before hitting you." He paused for a moment, waiting for an explanation he knew he wasn't going to get. "It just needs a couple of stitches then I'll bandage it up for you, and we can go for supper."

Dillon wasn't saying anything more, and Doc knew better than to push too hard or he'd never get an answer. He thought Kitty would do better. Somehow she had a way of getting the stoic marshal to talk.

xxxxx

Later that evening Dillon sat in his office composing two telegrams. One to the bank in Joplin telling them he had custody of the money they were missing from the robbery six years ago. A boy by the name of Samuel Wade had recovered it and any reward should be sent to him and his widowed mother, care of the marshal's office in Dodge City.

The next was to the marshal's service in Washington. He notified them that Marshal James L Cutler had been killed in the performance of duty while arresting Coy Clemons. He recommended that the $2000 reward should be sent to his widow, Althea Cutler in Springfield Missouri. He would send a more detailed account by mail.

Then he had a letter to write to Mrs. Althea Cutler. This would be the hard part. He almost felt the need to go and talk to her personally but it would mean a week away from Dodge. He didn't know how much she knew about her husband's injury but Dillon suspected he'd told her very little. He wanted her to know that her husband died while trying to arrest a fugitive and that he was a good lawman. Matt dug Cutler's badge from his vest pocket. He cleaned it and wrapped it carefully in a piece of cloth, then tucked it in the envelope with the letter.

It was beginning to get dark outside. Chester had taken Samuel to Ma Smalley's and she'd found the boy a room for the night. Matt would figure out how to get him home tomorrow. Right now he would make rounds and stop by the Long Branch. He needed a beer to wash the trail dust from his throat and the image of Cutler's death from his mind.

xxxxx

When the cattle drives were over, Dodge City went to sleep a lot earlier. By midnight the saloons were already dark and the pianos were silent. Kitty stood looking over the doors of the Long Branch Saloon. She could hear Dillon's familiar footsteps on the boardwalk as he checked that the town was secure for the night. They would be silent for a moment here and there as he rattled a door knob to see that it was locked, or stepped briefly into an alleyway to check that none of the town locals had passed out in a dark corner.

At last she could see his familiar shape outlined against the dim light from the few oil lamps that hadn't been extinguished yet. She could tell he had a lot on his mind and knew he would be reluctant to talk about what happened. Of course she couldn't help but notice that Jim Cutler hadn't returned with him and she wondered where that young boy Samuel Wade fitted into the picture. Matt would tell her in time, but it wouldn't be easy.

At last he was standing next to her. She looked up into the blue eyes which seemed so distant and sad.

"You look like you could do with a drink, Matt. Come in and I'll see what I can find."

He swallowed the whisky she set before him, then helped her extinguish the remaining oil lamps before following her upstairs.

Her room was warm and welcoming after what he had been through for the last few days. He could relax - almost. He was still wary about telling her what had happened, but knew that eventually she would find a way to worm it out of him.

She started by asking about his arm. "How did you get that?" she asked trying to sound casual.

"A stray bullet," he answered. So few words.

She poured him another shot of whisky - not the course stuff from down in the saloon, but the fine smooth version she kept hidden up here for special occasions.

She gave him time to swallow the liquid knowing it would help him relax. She waited before asking her big question.

"What happened to Jim Cutler?"

"He's dead."

He said nothing more for a moment, and sat staring at the empty glass he held. He stood up and walked to the window then turned to face her. "I killed him Kitty. He'd just saved my life and I shot him. I didn't have a choice."

"You want to tell me what happened?"

Matt knew he didn't want to tell anyone what happened, but Kitty was different. He could tell her and it would remain just between the two of them. In some way he didn't understand, it always helped him as well. He started by telling her about the missing money. He told her about the bullet that threatened Cutler's life and about Althea and the baby girl who would never know her father. He paused at that point, pacing the room from the settee to the window where he stopped for a moment.

"Did you catch up with Coy Clemens?" Kitty eventually asked trying to prod him gently into continuing. He turned around slowly to face her again.

"Yes, we did. He was at Ol' man Benson's place looking for the money. Benson's dead, Clemons killed him. He'd taken the boy there. Samuel is Jeb Tillman's son and somehow Tillman had told him the missing money was hidden in that shack. Clemons got the information from the boy."

Kitty knew she was treading on delicate ground now.

"Did you kill Clemons, Matt?"

"No. Cutler shot him. Clemons was trying to take the boy hostage so he could escape with the money."

"So you and Cutler were left. What happened?

She reached out her hand to him, encouraging him to come and sit next to her again.

"He was fast and accurate with a gun. He could have killed me if he'd wanted to. He could have taken the money and there would have been no one to stop him. But he didn't...when it came down to it he couldn't do it. The money wasn't for him - it was for his wife and the baby. But I couldn't let him take it, Kitty."

They sat in silence for a long time. She knew what a toll that badge took on him. She wouldn't make him tell her all the details now, she could only guess. He was torn between upholding the law, and helping a man, much like himself, who had nothing to loose by crossing that fine line.

"It's getting late," she told him, rubbing his shoulders. "Time to go to bed. Things will look better after a night's sleep."

END

A/N: Thank you for following this story. I would like to say thank you to each of the folks who left comments without signing in. If I could have replied to you personally I would have. I really appreciate your reading and letting me know what you thought.

LadyBrit.


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